


A Stout Drink is Not the Answer to Every Problem

by Ponderosa



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (2010)
Genre: Bears, Body Hair, Facial Hair, M/M, Porn Battle, Prosthesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-04
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:16:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderosa/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes a certain kind of strategy to rile Stoick up in a manner that leads to something other than shouting and bloodshed, but practice makes perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stout Drink is Not the Answer to Every Problem

**Author's Note:**

> For the porn battle prompt: strategy.

"It's been two years since the boy's mother died and look at him." Stoick gestured with both hands at the child standing in the wooden pen, chubby fists wrapped around the bars. 

Gobber beamed at the boy. He was a curious little fella, always wide-eyed and poking at anything within reach. Those grabby little hands were precisely the reason Gobber kept the mobile attached to his stump well out of reach. "Don't worry, Stoick, he'll grow into his enormous head eventually."

"He's skinny as a twig."

"True." Gobber slugged Stoick in the shoulder then propped his elbow on the pen. The little dragon carvings swung wildly and Hiccup landed on his bottom clapping enthusiastically. "But so were you, once upon a time."

"Hardly." Stoick snorted loudly. He peered at Hiccup, who was just about the only thing in Berk the man couldn't seem to make up his mind about. "At his age I was wrestling sheep and drinking my weight in mead."

"Not what I meant," Gobber said, with a leer powerful enough to singe the tips of Stoick's ears a charming crimson. "But maybe that's the problem. Give the boy a pint now and again."

Stoick went all frowny and thoughtful, exactly the sort of expression Gobber hated to see on him. Thinking of the boy made Stoick think of the boy's mother, and thinking of the boy's mother made Stoick more unpleasant than usual. Not that Gobber found Stoick unpleasant, but Vikings were supposed to be an entirely _other_ sort of unpleasant than brooding and sorrowful. "A stout drink is not the answer to every problem, Gobber."

Gobber shrugged. "Works for all of my problems," he said, and laughed as Hiccup managed to catch a wooden dragon and proceeded to gum it ferociously. "Lookit that, Stoick. See, the boy's going to be quite the warrior!"

"Thor willing."

"Enough worrying," Gobber detached the prosthesis from his arm and extracted the now-slobbered on dragon from Hiccup's wee hands. He affixed the mobile to the wall above the pen and gave it a gentle spin. "You're going to develop nervous lines on your forehead and they'll compete with your already well-ingrained anger lines. Then what will you do in battle when your enemies see you looking worried about being too fierce?"

Stoick's expression went from frowny to disgusted, which was a much better look on him. Rather attractive, really. "What kind of nonsense is that? I'll cut 'em down before they see anything other than my axe. And if they get close enough to be studying my forehead, why, when I rip the first man in two the rest won't give a dragon's fiery fart about anything other than turning tail."

With the other prosthesis he had brought with him set securely on his stump, Gobber slid an arm around Stoick and cuddled close. "Oh I know, I just wanted to hear you go on a bit about how absolutely vicious you are. You know, before we got to the moaning and groaning part of the evening. In case you were wondering, I left my undies at home."

The rosy tinge to Stoick's ears returned with a vengeance. A similar flush crept up his neck. It was a satisfying feeling to ruffle Stoick's feathers when he was almost always true to his name. It took a certain kind of strategy to rile Stoick up in a manner that led to something other than shouting and bloodshed, but practice made perfect. "Gobber," he said, staring down at the fingers walking up his chest to tangle into his beard and tug at the braids, "not in front of the boy."

"Well then we'd best hightail it to the bedroom." Gobber grinned and gave his tooth a seductive little wiggle with his tongue. The come-hither waggle was about as effective as the sharp yank to Stoick's beard, which is to say not very. It was like he'd been carved out of rock--a particularly stubborn rock who always needed to be tricked into remembering how much better he felt after a roll in the hay. Handily, Gobber was happy to nudge Stoick's memory and plant some smooches on him right here to get things going according to plan. He rocked up on his toes with his lips prepped for a kiss when the boy's huge sleepy yawn worked like a heavy boot to Stoick's rump.

"Into the bedroom," he said, not giving Gobber time to catch his footing again. He spun Gobber around on his pegleg and practically dragged him along.

Tingles skittered across Gobber's belly, and he couldn't possibly grin any wider. "Now we're talking!"

The door slammed shut hard enough that Gobber would have some new hinges to make in the morning, but that was the last thing on his mind when Stoick shoved him towards the bed. He waited somewhat patiently at the edge of it as Stoick stripped out of his armor piece by piece, treating the whole of it far better than he had the door. Gobber's far from infinite--but infinitely better than most's--patience ran out when Stoick got down to only boots and breeches.

This time a fist in his beard did the job as intended, and Stoick had quite clearly risen to the occasion as he put a knee between Gobber's legs and leapt on top of him like a randy bull. The straw of the mattress flattened beneath their combined weight, but they'd made love on the craggy rocks of Berk's cliffs before, bedslats were a luxury. And as vikings, luxury was far from a necessity. A full night of sweaty, grunting sex on the other hand....

"Have you gotten bigger since last month?" Gobber asked, spreading his hand over the hard bulge of Stoick's prick. "Stiff as a tree trunk and near as thick, it seems."

"Flatterer," Stoick grumbled, but the way he rutted into Gobber's grip and the twinkle in his eye admitted how much he liked it.

"No, no, I'm pretty sure it's true. Next time I'll bring my measuring arm." The proud huff of Stoick's breath and the rough scratch of his kiss got Gobber's nerves going like nothing else short of a good fight. It took a bit of effort to unlace Stoick's breeches and then his own while busy enjoying the hard grip of Stoick's hands on his sides and the slick searching thrust of his tongue, but eventually he worked both their cocks free. "I'm not the only one going commando, I see. I take it you had some plans of your own."

Stoick grunted his agreement, or perhaps his enjoyment. He caught Gobber's free arm just beneath the attachment and turned his head to run his tongue from the base of the metal to Gobber's elbow. Gobber's glowing satisfaction exploded into a fizzling mess as his hips bucked like a stormy sea, and he was torn between a howl and a roar when Stoick licked a path all the way to his underarm.

"Did you forget I was ticklish you great big lump of fish for brains?" Gobber wheezed, trying hard not to be so noisy that he'd wake the boy in the other room. 

"Not at all," Stoick replied, a thoroughly triumphant smile on his face that was typically the sort a man saw the instant before entering Valhalla. Gobber's insides did a pleasant flip in the seconds before Stoick's tongue wriggles into his armpit again and he was left squirming and fucking up against the crush of Stoick's weight. He tried and failed to focus on the grind of Stoick's cock instead of the too-intense, wildly ticklish sensations stabbing through his body.

With a half-hearted, gasping curse, he cried uncle and admitted he'd been out-manoeuvred. Stoick planted a smacking kiss high on his cheek. "That's right. And you best not forget who's in charge around here, either," Stoick said, gruff and affectionate. His mouth slid towards Gobber's for another kiss, and the roll of his hips turned lazy.

"Whatever you say," Gobber agreed, quite happily. He closed his eyes, pleased down to each of his five little piggies as Stoick dropped kisses in a path down towards his belly. After all, it did take a certain kind of strategy.


End file.
